


From Blackwatch with Love

by halfcharacter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Gen, M/M, Poker, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfcharacter/pseuds/halfcharacter
Summary: A game of probability and odds, or chance?Cards in one hand, glass in the other. Jesse leans back, considering his chances. He swirls the liquor around gently, admiring the warm tones of it in the light. Downing it all in one go, he drops the glass onto the velvet with an audible thud and flicks the chips in with the same hand.Swallow, drop, flick. Three nails in his coffin, if he was wrong.[a piece for CLASSIFIED: A Blackwatch Zine]





	From Blackwatch with Love

Five digits.

That’s all it is in the end; the fate of an entire city—the lives of countless beings, both human and omnic, resting upon five digits.

And three maladjusted men.

Artificial coolness blasts from the AC system in the hotel. Technology, negating the natural. One could almost forget that outside is a stifling Casablanca summer night.

Except in this private suite, the tension in the air is so thick and palpable that it hangs like a hot dark cloud in summer, ready to erupt as a thunderstorm.

Gabriel stares down at the cards on the table. He has a so-so hand. He leans back in his chair, fiddles with his silver cufflinks. They’re not here for the money, but he wouldn’t mind winning this game if he could. He has to remain in the game for as long as possible.

He cricks his neck and raises the bet.

 

* * *

 

A few players down the table, Jesse nurses a neat bourbon and misses the comforting feel of the brim of his hat low over his eyes. He feels vulnerable.

He watches Reyes raise the pot by two hundred thousand. Before, Jesse could only dream of that kind of money, the zeroes just a blur in his head. Though he’s used to poker, an old hat at this game, the money passed through grubby Deadlock fingers used to be a few hundred at most, maybe a thousand if somebody was feeling lucky on payday, their gamble fueled by bodies rotting in a back alley.

Here, people waltz in with their tailored suit jackets and expensive watches, tossing around gaming plaques worth millions like their lives don’t depend on the value of two cards between their fingers.

A game of probability and odds, or chance?

Cards in one hand, glass in the other. Jesse leans back, considering his chances. He swirls the liquor around gently, admiring the warm tones of it in the light. Downing it all in one go, he drops the glass onto the velvet with an audible thud and flicks the chips in with the same hand.

Swallow, drop, flick. Three nails in his coffin, if he was wrong.

Reyes knows Jesse’s bluffing. He wouldn’t be a good commander otherwise. But he doesn’t move a muscle, poised and refined in his chair, the image of a man who’s spent a lifetime amassing and investing hard earned money, playing stakes and shares alike.

Jesse grins, sharp white teeth flashing at his commander.

 

* * *

 

The whirr of his cooling vents lulls Genji into a peaceful calm—the calm before the storm. Though the night is oppressive, his body radiates a refreshing mist that envelops him and maintains the correct functioning of his internal machinery. Nothing must jeopardize his performance.

He sighs through lungs made of artificially grown tissue—they still don’t feel like his; at any moment his body could recognize them as the invader they are and attack the infiltrator, destroying all that Dr. Ziegler has worked so hard to construct.

Sometimes he wishes it would.

But, for now, he must remain functioning and breathing. There is a mark to remove.

Known to Blackwatch only as _l’uomo_ , Gabriel’s agents have been monitoring him for over a year. Involved in arms trafficking, terrorism, and staunchly anti-omnic. Not an uncommon sentiment these days, but combined with his criminal profile? Dangerous.

Reyes has it on very good authority that this is the night he will be passing the code to an EMP device onto an associate, identity unknown.

Genji flexes his fingers more out of habit than of any need to invigorate blood flow, and silently waits.

 

* * *

 

_L’uomo_ is a high stakes player, but cautious too, and it shows in the gaze of his green eyes as he surveys the game. Here is the harbour of the wealthy, and Gabriel can see him dismissing the table. Clearly he believes he is under no threat here of losing.

Gabe wants to crush him under his heel. He smiles instead, baring no teeth, and sips his scotch. _L’uomo_ ’s gaze passes over Jesse, on the far side of the table. This is good. McCree is supposed to be young, inexperienced—far too much of his daddy’s money to piss away and lots of hard lessons to be learned. Jesse acts the part perfectly, mostly because he is still somewhat that boy who took in the vast scope of Blackwatch’s shooting range and their technological innovation with childlike awe; who almost teared up at the thought of owning his own mattress, wardrobe, and shower.

But Gabriel didn’t recruit a lost boy from Neverland. Underneath his young visage, Jesse McCree has a heart of pure iron. Blackened by flame but still strong underneath the soot and dirt. Gabriel wouldn’t trust any other agent to be here with him.

_L’uomo_ ’s gaze settles on Gabriel and he pauses. He’s figured out Gabriel isn’t a man who will roll over easily.

“Enjoying the game?” he asks in smooth Arabic.

Gabriel inclines his head. “I hope you are.”

“You have an Egyptian inflection,” he observes, “and yet, I would hazard to guess that you are not of Egyptian descent.” He takes a sip of his red wine and quirks a brow. “Learned the tongue from your lover, perhaps?”

Gabriel’s eyes flash dark under the rim of his glass. “You’ve laid me bare, dear sir.”

“Can we get back to playing?” Jesse bites in from his seat, “or are you two gentlemen content to flirt all evening instead?”

_L’uomo_ regards Jesse with an amused look, before turning back to Gabriel. “One wonders if the youth of today understand patience.”

“Certainly,” Gabriel agrees. “One would _long_ to teach him the meaning of the word.”

_L’uomo_ laughs, throwing his head back. “I like your company, Signor Aramendi.”

“Shall we resume?” asks the dealer.

 

* * *

 

Fourth street. The stakes get higher and higher, but with the cards played out on the velvet, Jesse now has a decent hand. Enough to win? Maybe.

There are six men left sitting at the table. Gabriel, Jesse, the mark, and three possible associates.

Gabriel has no choice—he folds. He curses silently at _l’uomo_ ’s satisfied grin and places all his hopes on his subordinate.

Fifth street. The last round of betting commences. _L’uomo_ raises. An audible gasp settles over the room. There’s twenty million in the pot. Gabriel doesn’t move a muscle.

Jesse smiles. And goes all in.

_L’uomo_ holds out his wine glass. A waiter hurries over. “A glass of sauvignon blanc, to toast my victory.”

 

* * *

 

Blanc.

It’s like a scene playing out in slow motion as the locks fall into place. Gabriel presses a side button on his bvlgari watch, triumphant.

B.L.A.N.C.

Of _course_.

 

* * *

 

Genji bursts through the window just as the waiter attempts to slip out of the room. He tosses something across the table, draws his sword. The waiter feints right, ducks to roll under Genji’s arm.

_Click._

The waiter looks up in fear to see Jesse holding Peacekeeper, the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead.

Genji pushes a _tantō_ close against the waiter’s neck. He can feel the thrumming of the blood flow underneath the delicate skin; the panicked breaths. The other occupants of the game are screaming; somebody is calling for security.

Across the room, Gabriel has shucked his suit jacket, powerful arms locked tightly around _l’uomo_ ’s neck. He is struggling, but Gabriel is much stronger. Jesse grins, pulls Peacekeeper back and holsters the gun just as security bursts into the room, guns drawn.

“Release them!” an officer barks, gun trained on Genji.

Gabriel’s grip doesn’t loosen. “Stand down, officer,” he commands.

“Who are _you_?” the officer spits. A crackling noise erupts from his earpiece; he frowns, touches his ear.

And lowers his gun.

The others do the same, hesitantly.

“My... apologies, sir.” He says to Reyes. “How might we assist you?”

“Cuffs.”

The officer tosses a pair of cuffs to Gabriel, who in an instant has them locked firmly around _l’uomo_ ’s wrists. He shoves the gambler towards Jesse, who begins marching him out of the room.

“Genji,” Jesse orders. “Come on.”

Genji pulls the waiter to his feet and shoves him out of the door, followed by security and the other shaken occupants. The chief walks over to Gabriel and salutes; rather messily, in Gabriel’s opinion.

“We are honoured to aid in a mission of this importance, sir,” he stammers, as Gabriel retrieves his jacket. “Let us know if there is anything else we can do.”

“Keep this quiet,” Gabriel replies. “You’ve just saved countless lives.”

He bows and scuttles out through the door. When the room is empty, silent and cool, Gabriel walks over to the table. He flips over the cards out of interest. Then he swears under his breath, half in exasperation, half in awe.

Jesse had nearly won, and all with a pile of nothing.

He pulls his commlink from his pocket and fixes it to his ear. “Tell Morrison the targets have been neutralized,” he says. “Blackwatch, reporting in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Blackwatch Zine for allowing me to be a part of this incredible opportunity—I feel truly blessed to have been a part of this!!
> 
> Name obviously inspired by _From Russia With Love_. Let nobody say that I don't know my own style.
> 
> Thank you for reading and supporting the zine!


End file.
